


Honest Man

by thepocketdragon



Series: Sing to me Instead [5]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Pitch Perfect - Freeform, bechloe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28052193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepocketdragon/pseuds/thepocketdragon
Summary: The truth is scary, but sometimes it hurts more to hold it inside. Maybe that's why Beca's growing tired of only being able to love Chloe in secret.An introspective take on Beca's thoughts. Established Bechloe.
Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Series: Sing to me Instead [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021515
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Honest Man

**Author's Note:**

> Another addition to the 'Sing to me Instead' series in which I listen to a song from Ben Platt's album, think about Bechloe and write whatever comes into my head. As always, it's useful to listen to the song first to get the context of the storyline.
> 
> As usual, this is written freeform, is largely unedited and certainly unbeta'd. 
> 
> Comments and feedback are very welcome.

There’s something about her in the moonlight.

Maybe it’s the way the dim glow highlights the gentle slope of her nose.

Maybe it’s the way her hair looks impossibly red against the white cotton of the pillowcase.

In this time, halfway between yesterday and tomorrow, it is just them.

There is no need to hide there. There is nothing to be afraid of.

In this room, in the settled quiet of a house otherwise asleep, they are safe.

Safe. That’s the word Beca keeps coming back to.

Safe to fall.

Safe to touch.

Safe to say it out loud.

In her heart, Beca knows she’s ready. She’s ready to put a big old label over her chest with Chloe’s name on it. She’s ready to shout it from the rooftops, make it Facebook official and book a table for two at the nicest restaurant she can afford this side of the Chattahoochee river on Valentine’s day and their anniversary and their birthdays and…

Beca’s pulse races as she gets carried away in her daydreams, but it comes crashing to a harsh, jolting stop when she reaches the inevitable conclusion that, for now, dreams is all they are. In this room, in this space, in this time, when it’s just the two of them, they peel back their layers and exist as they truly are; as two people falling very quickly in love. Outside, however, the moonlight drags at shadows and casts them, stretched and distorted, against the cold, uncertain ground. Outside, they cover themselves in layers to protect themselves from harm and from danger. Layers which camouflage who they are. Layers which keep it all hidden away. Layers which cover the truth.

She understands why Chloe is scared.

She understands why leaving this space, why the idea stepping out into that world is frightening.

She understands, but she can’t help that it breaks her heart a little to have to hide.

Beca doesn’t want to call it lying. That’s not what it is, exactly. It’s avoidance.

It’s one of the things she does best, but she’s tired.

Tired of keeping secrets.

Tired of holding it all in.

Tired of only being able to love her in private.

Tired of questioning what it means that Chloe always checks that the door is closed before letting herself relax into her arms, that she pushes herself away and makes an obvious space between them whenever anybody as much as walks past in the corridor outside.

Beca understands that Chloe feels safe here, that she thinks the danger is outside.

Beca knows different.

In Beca’s mind, there is nothing more terrifying that being trapped in a room with a head full of worries she can’t say out loud. There is nothing more scary than knowing she is laid beside the one person who holds the power to completely and utterly break her heart.

Suddenly, loving Chloe Beale doesn’t feel as easy as she had expected it to.

But maybe that’s just the moonlight.

///

It had been a slow kind of love.

It had built at a pace so imperceptible that Beca hadn’t registered the swell in her chest, the growing anticipation that filled her senses, until the sudden urge to lean in and _kiss_ her best friend appeared, surrounded by flashing lights, at the forefront of her mind.

The easy, comfortable way they fell into the notion of being something more than friends was what tipped Beca off to the idea that this, whatever name they gave it, was special. Significant. She had never looked at another person and felt as certain, as assured as she did with Chloe.

It didn’t take her long to realise that she was falling.

Part of her thought it was cliché, the idea of falling in love with her attractive best friend, but she didn’t care.

When she looked at Chloe and Chloe looked back at her, nothing else mattered.

She knew, then.

She felt it.

She still does.

That’s what makes it so hard. If it was simply a crush, or a fling, something more trivial or juvenile, she could understand why they were hiding it. She could see why it would be better to keep it a secret from the rest of the world.

Nobody would have understood if it was complicated.

This, though?

It’s simple. It’s love. The one thing that is universal. The one thing that everyone, in some way or another, can understand. Even if they haven’t felt it, they still know. They’ve heard the songs or read the poetryor watched it played out for them on screen. It’s strangers holding hands on a park bench. It’s a gold necklace glinting in the light against a bare chest. It’s red roses and champagne and music. It’s sharing the last bite of a sandwich, it’s giving away the red skittles even though they’re your favourite. It’s wanting someone to smile because the idea of making them happy is what makes you happier than anything else.

That stupid song wasn’t lying; love is literally all around.

It’s everywhere.

It’s in everything.

That’s why Beca doesn’t get it.

She doesn’t get why it has to be more complicated. Why it has to hurt.

They’re in love.

They will be in love forever.

Nothing will change that.

  
Not time; not what other people think.

They are two people in love. It doesn’t matter that they are two women, that it might not be the ending of the story others had envisioned for them.

Beca’s eyes glance over Chloe’s sleeping form, taking in the way her fingers rest against the edge of her pillow. Slowly, she looks past her, scanning the room. As her eyes land on her bedside table, it is hard not to think too hard about the significance of the fact that the framed photograph is of her family- mom, dad, three sisters- and not of her.

It shouldn’t matter.

It won’t matter.

Not when they love each other as much as they do.

At least that’s what Beca hopes.

For now, hope is all she has.

///

In the beginning, the idea of being a secret had been exciting.

They were new, then, and there were questions they knew they couldn’t answer anywhere except in this space. This space in which there is only them. Nothing and nobody else.

Every touch, every embrace, every glance, felt charged. The hiding, the ‘what if’, left a myriad of fizzing feelings threatening to spill over. There was a build, the shake-shake-shake of the can each time their fingers interlocked behind their backs on the couch, each time they gave a knowing, flirtatious, daring look as they passed by one another in the kitchen. There was a bubbling anticipation in the knowledge that there would be an opportunity to escape, to return to the safety of Chloe’s bedroom, where the can could be opened. Where everything- words, feelings, touches, kisses- would explode out.

The release, Beca learned, was worth the build-up. The moment the door closed and Chloe’s lips found hers, the volcano erupted around them. There was a desperation, then, borne of teasing glances and secret texts and the clamouring sensation, the need to sate this new desire that had- finally- been pushed to the surface after months, years, of suppression. They had worked into a system, a routine, and they made the most of the time they had alone.

It had been incredible. Passionate. Desperate. Intimate.

Now, though, there was a new yearning.

A new want.

A want for something more.

Something more than secrets.

Something more like the love Beca knew from the songs and the poems and the movies.

Something more like the kind of relationships Beca knew Chloe’s sisters all had.

Something more like the kind of relationship they all wanted her to have.

With one difference.

///

The Beale’s expectations for their children had never been a secret. Beca had known from early into her friendship with Chloe that her drive to succeed, to be the best, didn’t come purely from within. There was a worry, not quite a fear but sometimes close, that failure and rejection went hand-in-hand. That, if she were to divert from the path set out for her by her family, she would be struck off in some way and left completely alone.

There had been a moment, the second time she had intentionally failed Russian lit, where it had come close. Chloe’s parents had been vocal about their disappointment, had made threats to stop supporting her which Beca had assumed were empty and meaningless, but it had scared her. The difference was, Chloe hadn’t been alone. Beca had been there. Beca would always be there.

Chloe had explained, then, about her family’s life back in Florida. She had told her about how her dad had inherited his father’s business and how the expectation had always been that his son would take over one day. When Chloe, the fourth and final daughter, had been born, he had instead turned his attention to her oldest sister and began voicing the idea that she would one day be the next Beale to sit at the CEO desk. There were eyes on the family and there was a reputation to uphold. Over time, Chloe had been judged by the same exacting standards all three of her older sisters had adhered to.

The journey was supposed to go a little something like this: graduate high school with your name on the honor roll. Go to a good university and spend four years studying something that would open doors to a respectable professional career. Find a well-mannered, well-connected, well-intentioned boy amongst the graduating class and- ideally after one of you was named valedictorian- begin to sow the seeds of a life together. Marry him, have at least two picture-perfect kids and uphold the values of the Beale family name for forever and ever amen.

Beca had seen exactly how prescriptive Chloe’s parents were. She knew, although it was never openly acknowledged, that the path from college to the bright, gleaming future they envisioned was lined with money. Money for rent, money for a car, money to ensure their daughter was always dressed appropriately to attract the wealthy future husband who was most likely hanging out either on the lacrosse field or outside the doors of Barden’s law school building.

It was never said out loud, not really, but Chloe- the fourth and last child to grow up- had a path carved out for her to follow. There were footsteps already trodden deep into the ground. All she had to do was watch her step and put her feet in the right place.

From her adventures in acapella to her misadventures in the world of Russian literature, she had learned that veering from the set path never ended well. Not for a Beale. That, Beca realised, was when Chloe learned the value of avoiding the truth.

Beca couldn’t help but wonder whether Chloe’s parents, or her sisters, had said something about them. About _her._ She knew from the printed polaroid photographs on Chloe’s wall, the festive family pictures on her social media, that there was a certain ‘look’ to the people the Beales surrounded themselves with. Beca certainly didn’t fit. She didn’t spend her life walking around in nice, fitted dresses and carrying her books in expensive handbags. Her hair wasn’t styled ‘just so’, with every flyaway sprayed down. She didn’t know the difference between a soup spoon and a melon spoon. She wasn’t, quite frankly, Aubrey Posen.

Maybe, if she was, the family might be able to look past the fact that she was a girl. Maybe, then, Chloe might not be so scared to say, to show in any way that they were, in fact, in love.

Maybe, if there hadn’t been such a pressure to fit in with the Beale idea of perfection, Chloe would be able to love her outside of these walls.

Maybe then, she would finally see that this- this messy, chaotic, joyful partnership- was its own version of perfect.

///

There’s an irony to the situation, Beca realises.

When they had first met, Beca’s walls had been sky high. Slowly, they had lowered. Lowered enough for Chloe to simply step inside them.

Chloe had dismantled her armour, brick by brick, and led her out into the light. Chloe had taken her hand and proved, once and for all, that the _real_ Beca Mitchell was worthy of love. Worthy of her love, no less.

The problem came that, when there were other eyes on them, Chloe let go of Beca’s hand.

She let go and stepped into the half-formed walls Beca had left, piling brick upon brick around herself until she was entirely hidden away.

Safe.

Safe but alone.

All Beca wanted to do was reach out, to hold her and say ‘I’m here’, but fear stopped her from moving forwards. Fear of being pushed back and rejected. Rejected for loving her.

That was the part that hurt most of all. The idea that hiding was somehow easier than loving her. That Beca wasn’t worth being brave for.

That something out there mattered more than this.

Sleepless nights have fast become a part of Beca’s regular routine. It has grown hard to switch off the questions, the worry. It has become harder to hold it all inside, to not let every panicked thought or selfish assumption leap out of her mouth when they have a moment of quiet alone.

By rights, she should be exhausted.

She is, she realises.

But sleep doesn’t come easily.

Instead, she lays awake, watching Chloe’s gentle breathing and admiring the softness of her features in the sepia light of the early hours.

She knows she should leave. Go back to her own bed.

She knows the rules, however unspoken.

She wants to fight it, truly, but she’s scared. Scared that, once the door is open, everything will come out. She’s scared to expose the truth, her truth. Scared because she knows the truth is the one thing Chloe is more afraid of than anything else.

Scared because she knows Chloe’s solution is to avoid the problem.

Which would mean avoiding her.

Beca can’t think of anything more terrifying than losing her.

Not ever.

///

The thing is, Beca knows Chloe loves her.

She can see it in her eyes. She feels it in every kiss, every touch. She knows there’s a magnetism between them, an invisible force that pulls them together.

Maybe that’s why she can’t sleep.

Maybe that’s why she stares at the ceiling and runs over and over the unanswered questions in her mind.

Maybe that’s what confuses her.

Chloe loves her.

She loves Chloe.

They both feel it, they both know it’s there. They both know it’s different to anything they’ve felt before. That this means something. That this means forever.

She wants to shout it from the rooftops. She wants to talk about the reason why she’s smiling. She wants to give Chloe the credit she deserves for taking her dark and twisted soul and filling it with sunshine.

She wants to write, to sing, about how special and beautiful all of this is.

That’s what music was made for.

It was made for Chloe Beale.

That’s why every song reminds Beca of her.

Beca wants to be brave. She can be, she knows, but only with Chloe by her side.

It would be pointless to do any of this by herself.

But, maybe, she’ll meet Chloe halfway.

They can do this together.

At least, that way, Chloe will know she’s not alone. That, whatever happens, she’s got Beca by her side.

If only she’ll take her hand.

///

“Stay.”

The covers are halfway down Beca’s legs as she pushes herself up as quietly as she can.

Chloe’s eyes blink open, looking directly at her.

Slowly, a hand reaches out and pushes lightly at her shoulder until she has no choice but to lay back down on the pillow.

“Stay with me, Becs.”

Fingers entangle with hers beneath the sheets and Beca feels herself relax as Chloe shuffles closer until there is no space between them. Her eyes have fluttered closed, but her breathing tells Beca she’s still awake.

The fingers squeeze at her hand.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” The voice is quiet, half-awake and slightly slurred. “You okay?”

Now isn’t the time, Beca thinks. It’s not the time to say it. Instead, she sighs and holds Chloe closer to her, breathing in the scent of her hair as she closes her eyes.

“Yeah.”

Chloe hums lightly, the fingers of her other hand dancing along the edge of the bedding. “You… you know I love you, right?”

Beca nods, fighting back the tears that are suddenly and forcefully pushing against her eyelids.

“I love you just as you are. Don’t… don’t change for me.” She smacks her lips sleepily and Beca wonders how close to consciousness the redhead is. “Just wait for me.”

It’s those words that open the floodgates. Beca leans back as far as she can to avoid her silent tears spilling onto Chloe’s skin. Her chest shudders as she takes a deep breath, trying to stay quiet as the dam breaks.

“I’ll wait, baby” she finally says, pressing her lips to Chloe’s head. “For you, I’ll wait forever.”

Beca has never been more honest than she is with Chloe. There’s always been something about her, something in the way she saw through the armour as if it wasn’t there. It’s hard to hide when the second time you meet someone is when you’re standing nude ready to take a shower. It’s hard to come back from that and cover yourself up.

Chloe makes her honest.

Chloe makes her, finally, want to be exactly who she is.

Because, with Chloe, she knows she is loved.

She knows she is safe.

The hand linked to hers squeezes lightly and Beca lets her eyes fall closed. She won’t let go, not now. She only hopes that, even when the room is flooded with the light of the day, Chloe won’t either.

“I love you, Beca.”

It’s all the honesty she needs.

Beca smiles and, finally, lets herself fall into a dream-filled sleep.


End file.
